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Sunday, March 20, 2005

Godot

Samuel Beckett's plays are filled with a consciousness of vast, valid
cerebral compassion and universally sound brilliance. His directions
miss not a single pertinent fact, no matter how twisted, grotesque,
quotidianly nauseating or microscopically heroic
of our species.

Samuel Beckett took the humdrum hoi polloi, the commonplace
pseudo-civilized masses (be they poor, working, middle or rich class
mass), and reveals them, as a master sculptor,
bringing froth amazingly beautiful, yet shockingly stark, art from
cold thoughtless stone, transforming it into
an intellectually engrossing work of
astounding, compelling and wondrous rapture; Beckett's works are
beyond the ordinarily non-uniqueness that the subjects
themselves squirm within or, on oh-so rarefied occasions, soar above.
His plays are pure genius. Beckett takes the infestation that most of the human race, and DNA in general, is and gently forces it to be
art of the highest possible degree.

Tor's satires, parodies and hisTORical research have been known to bewilder and irritate a few small groups of people such as Jews, Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Satanists, Agnostics, Atheists, the hearing impaired, the hearing unimpaired and Hindon'ts but that's just about all.

However, if you enjoy frightfully truthful lyrics that are delivered with intense comedic timing you should enjoy Tor's works to the extreme.